


"Hey Jude."

by TheLittleDayDreamer



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Ben Hardy - Freeform, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-07 19:59:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17967056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleDayDreamer/pseuds/TheLittleDayDreamer
Summary: “-And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain, don’t carry the world upon your shoulders. For well you know that it’s a fool who plays it cool, by making his world a little colder.”





	1. "Hey Jude."

**1973**

_“Abso-fucking-lutely.”_

“Ah, You’re probably right.”

She lets her small frame fall back onto the rough brick wall, taking another inhale of the recently lit fag resting it on her lips. A strong pulse of ecstasy mixed with speckles drowsiness begin rushing to her head. “Can’t do this anymore Fred,” she said, “it’s killing me.”

Rolling his head to this side he intakes her solemn expression, equipped with bloodshot eyes and dark-circles, small red breakouts across her delicate skin and some noticeable track-marks scattered along her inner-arms. Taking one final glance down at the girl fiddling with her fingers, Freddie grimaces at the permanent indentation and marking on his friend’s finger.  _Roger always was one for a bargain._

The partners-in-crime had been perched on the rooftop of Abbey Road for quite some time, Mercury having already gone through half a pack of cigarettes; they were at peace as the harsh autumn wind nipped against their skin. This morning’s plans had already gone to shite; two hours into practice and nothing was accomplished –  _unless you count another kicked-in bass drum._ Roger’s aggressive attitude had been getting worse as the day progressed; as did Leigh’s.

The young woman peered down at her bare feet, that were now covered by her flared jeans.  _Fuck, it was cold._

“Nobody ever pegged Taylor as a family-man,” the singer smirked watching the girl take a final drag, “surprised he was the first, really thought it’d be your brother.” She raised an eyebrow at him. Brian was rather levelled in comparison to the troublesome trio that was Freddie, the blond bombshell and his baby-sister, but she knew he had no intention of settling down anytime soon. “-his drums weren’t the only thing he’d be banging every-night.” He smiles to himself.

Ignoring the obvious antagonising pun, Leigh continues, “You say that like Mona was planned.” She states, although muffled behind the cigarette hanging from her mouth. “besides, Roger wasn’t like that before  _all this_.”

Freddie gives her a knowing look, “-well, not as bad.”

The brunette man leans over slinging his arm around her shoulders, “You’ve tamed the beast darling, that little girl has him wrapped around her chubby little finger.”

She opens her mouth to protest, only for the metal door behind them to swing open, revealing Brian May with her beautiful blonde toddler resting in his arms “Roger’s snapped another drumstick, thought it’d be best to bring this one up here.”

Mustering up some strength, she takes the small girl from her brother’s grasp, careful not to wake her, watching as the child snuggles in to the crook of her mother’s neck. “What’s happened now?” she groaned, “knocked-up another bird, has he?” she joked cynically, although her brother didn’t seem to find it amusing in the slightest, noticing his pursed lips and furrowed eyebrows. “-kidding Bri, kidding.”

Balancing Mona on her waist she removes the fag and hands it back to the singer, “Stub it out will you, air up ‘ere’s no good for her.” She explained, “not that her dad’s any better to be around, fucking reeks of this shit.”

Brian moved slightly in front of his sister, partially blocking the entrance. “You sure that’s a good idea? He’s screaming  _Bloody_ - _Mary_  downstairs.” He warned, idly motioning behind him.

“She’ll freeze up here!”

The twenty-one-year-old narrowed her eyes, the guitarist still remains in place.

Noticing the tension between the siblings Freddie decides to step in. Climbing to his feet he slips into the small gap, he turns to his bandmate. “Look, I’ll deal with Mr. Melodramatic,” he said, “take her into the room in the back.”

The two May’s look between him and each-other.

“ _I’m coming in too early?_  the verse hasn’t even started, and I can already hear that _guitar!_ ” Roger’s voice boomed from the recording studio in the next room. Leigh sighed, watching her daughter tug at the loose strands off hair hanging from her doll. It was second-hand, like almost everything they owned, but it was the first thing Roger had bought her after she was brought home from the hospital. However, he’d already given up on her by the night’s end when she wouldn’t stop crying.  _Like father like daughter._

That was when it began, the cracks. First it was leaving Mona in the booth – although, he  _was_  trying to get her to sleep – then it was not bothering to pick up nappies, but the final straw was bringing another woman back to the flat during the week his daughter had been suffering from colic. Back and forth it went from missing doctor’s appointments to direct lying so he could sneak off to a gig down the road. She’d reached breaking-point.

Leigh and Taylor had an interesting relationship, legally they’d been married since  _’68_ but emotionally the couple lasted around a two years before wanting to rip each-other apart. They didn’t see much of point in trying to separate, knowing it would tarnish both Roger and Queen’s career, but they allowed their friendship to blossom once more rather than continuing to peruse anything romantic.

Until recently.

It was exciting, she felt like a bumbling teenager all over again sneaking off behind her brother’s back for a quickie at university like they used to, except now it wasn’t just Brian they were hiding from; it was the rest of the bloody  _country!_

They both knew it was wrong, she knew that all he was looking for a familiar fuck, rather than make the effort to go out and find new girl every night; and he knew, as twisted as it is; her general vulnerability added with the fact he knew every little bit of her body like the back of his hand, it meant she was putty in his arms.

That, and it was pretty easy for Roger to tick-off a woman that hadn’t been shagged in over a year.

_“Forchristsake’s, get over it!”_

And, he’s off.

Brian glances down at the drumstick held threateningly in front of his face by his dearest brother in-law, trying to ignore the pungent smells radiating from him. Though his expression remains still, calm and collective; not exactly what Roger what looking for but nether the less, it shut him up.

“Quite finished?” He teases.

“I don’t know Bri, you tell me. Not only do you accuse me of fucking up, but you have the audacity to take my daughter from me.”

“-Y’know Roger, if you’d stopped acting like a wanker then maybe we wouldn’t have had to.” Deacy cuts in, looking up from the soundboard he’d been hibernating behind.

“Please, children. Can’t we handle our personal business on our own time?” Freddie suggests, trying to break the tension.

Both men ignored him, too engrossed in the prospect of killing one-another.

An unsettling chuckle slips from Roger, “Let’s face it Brian, if it wasn’t for me, neither  _her_  nor  _you_ would be here.”

All eyes remained glued to the blonde.

“Don’t be silly Roger, you don’t have that much pow…” The frontman trailed off once noticing the sheer rage in May’s face.

“You think we  _owe_ you?” He croaks.

“Wait, I don’t understand-“ John tries to intervene,

“-what was it then, a favour?” Brian snaps at the blond.

The drummer began biting at the inside of his mouth, suddenly feeling a wash of guilt overcome him; but he was in far too deep to back down now.

“Look, If I let her go down, you’d never have played with me again,” he said, “all of  _this_  wouldn’t have been possible if-“

“-if you didn’t elope.” He sighs, finishing his friend’s sentence. “So what? Is this you trying to prove that, you care more about this damn  _band_  than my sister and your child’s wellbeing.”

“-I did it for  _you_  Brian!”

“That’s not the  _point!_ ”

The room fell into a piercing silence.

Leigh sat clutching her baby’s small frame. She’d heard everything  _Loud_  and  _clear._

“Well don’t bother beating ‘round the bush for crying out loud, share it with the class.” Freddie broke the thick tension of the room, unfortunate the catalyst spiralled once again.

Roger scratches the back of his neck hoping Brian would take the bait.

“We got a letter in from the NHS; 1968 – Leigh was two months pregnant and unmarried,” the guitarist lets out a breath, “she was going to be extracted from the household and Mona would’ve been given solely to Roger or placed in care.”

“Did she  _know?_ ”

“She does now.”

Leigh sat uncomfortably against the wooden door, the only thing separating her from a room full of shame. He’d  _never_  loved her; the  _entirety_  of their marriage was a  _sham_. She was simply a  _chore_. Looking down at the blonde in her arms gently caressing her soft cheeks occasionally moving some loose hair out of her face. Her heavy breathing began to quicken, creating an almost drowning feeling for the woman, as if the world was going to swallow her whole.

Resting her back on the door she then feels an increasing burning sensation in her eyes,  _here it comes_.

The studio falls to a tense silence once again.

A wounded cry is heard from the room opposite them.

“I’m going for a smoke, then I think we’re done here.” Roger stated, grabbing his keys and wallet from the worn-out couch. “-give her a lift home, will you?”

Brian reaches out harshly yanking Roger back by his black button-down, “What the hell do you think you’re playing at?”

Before his band-mate could speak Brian continued, “You show up late and might I add, pissed; destroy the last of our new equipment, terrify your daughter then decide to make a mockery of my sister, in…”, he glances to the clock, “three and a half hours.”

The rugged drummer gives one final look towards Brian before shrugging him off storming towards the back room.

Taking in a deep breath Roger hesitantly places a hand on the golden knob. His internal monologue was racing, panicking about what exactly was hidden beyond the door, he could already hear the gentle sobs with a few gargles from Mona.  _All he needed was five minutes alone with her._

**“Don’t even think about it Taylor.”**

_Fuck._

Letting out an exasperated groan, he turns himself.

In comparison to the rest, Roger and Paul seemed to clash more than most, everything that came out of his mouth the bastard would contradict; acting as if the drummer was just a hot-head who needed to be silenced but it wasn’t just what he said to  _him_ , he wasn’t keen on Leigh either but giving her the benefit of the doubt since she was Brian’s sister – rather than the blond’s  _wife._  It’d be the odd demining comment towards her, he’d force himself to let slide for the sake of his mates and Freddie’s relationship. In reality, Roger would give anything to deck him,  _just once._

“-thought you were the  _man of the house_  blondie,” or “Jesus, all that for one  _glorified groupie?_ ” were just some of the remarks he’d made in the past few weeks. Paul brought out the worst in Roger, whilst everyone else suffered the consequences of his heightened behaviour.

John had to physically restrain him one time, around a year ago when he’d uttered something about, “putting a  _rag_  over  _it_.”

It was hard that week for  _all of them_. Leigh’d been on bed-rest after tripping over a ‘loose’ cable - spraining her ankle, leaving Roger carrying around a two-year-old suffering from a persistent fever. Paul’s attitude certainly wasn’t making it any better, although there was light at the end of the tunnel for the blond when Mona proceeded to bite at the Irishman when he’d tried to lift her from the booth.

Of course, Brian was none-the-wiser.

Roger runs a hand through his hair, before slowly opening the door – although was unable to do so.

“ _Go away!_  I don’t want hear  _or_  see you Roger Taylor, and I swear to god,” she cried, “if you try and open this door.”

“ _Women_ , am I right?” Their manger laughed, playfully hitting John in the chest. None of the band turned to him, their eyes glued on the drummer resting his forehead against the brown door.

“Love, I-I didn’t mean it like that.” He speaks softly, in an attempt to calm her feeling a slight  _pang_  in his chest.

“Then what did you mean it like?  _Thank you_  is, that what you want? For me to be grateful that because of you; people don’t think I’m some  _mental slag._ ” She spat, venom dripping over every word, the little girl began stirring in her arms.

She carefully gripped at her daughter, fearing they’d take her out of grasp once again,  _not again_.

_Not again, never again._

“Please."

**_“Just, go.”_ **


	2. "Studio Blues."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mona’s starting to feel the affects of Roger not being around as often now that Chess has moved on with her life.

_April – 1975_

_Los Angeles, California._

**“You know cupcake, I once had to do this for daddy,”**  Chess muses her now six-year-old as she softly dabs at her plump lips with some sheer pink gloss that she’d managed to quickly grab from one of the countless dressing-tables spread across the tight studio space. The pair had been waiting around for hours on-end for the crew to complete a new set-up and whilst the singer could handle the tiresome routine; her daughter was having some trouble staying awake. Still, they found other means of entertainment throughout the day,  _“-wouldn’t stop squirming in that skirt of his.”_

The small blonde lets out a giggle at the thought of her father resembling that of her own Barbie-doll. Mona had been placed in her mother’s production chair and having been left to her own devices, began to tinker with the various cosmetics scattered across the vanity; until Chess found her covered in blue eye-shadow and rather patchy bronzer. “Was he  _pretty?_ ”

“The  _bell of the ball_. Uncle Brian on the other hand,” her mother grimaced for a second, “well thankfully he’s never put the dress back on.”

Chess remembered that day vividly, it was chaotic – as usual but it still never stopped her and Roger from a quick shag. He refused to let anybody do his makeup besides her, even after Freddie threatening to pluck his eyebrows he still put up a fight. So, begrudging she did then was forced to  _re-do_  it after the drummer got a little too handsy.

The two had been invited onto the set of  _Cher_ , hosted by the eponymous singer who happened one of the Brit’s closest friends from across the pond. They’d met through another mutual performer that Chess and Mona knew all too well; Elton John. The man of many _eccentric_ fashion choices – not that she could talk. Both women took solace in one-another due to the common-ground of being young mothers in the big, bad world of showbiz.

“When is uncle Deacy getting here?” Mona glanced up with her beautiful brown doe-eyes.

Chess sighed wiping some of the excess powder onto her cream-coloured booty-shorts, John had promised to pick them up after shooting whilst her other-half was busy with a press-release, but unfortunately it wouldn’t be for another couple of hours. She was hesitant to adhere to his proposal being two months pregnant and hanging around a known chain-smoker was not a good match, especially when trying to leave your past-life buried back in Britain.

_Couldn’t they just allow her to move on?_

She hadn’t seen much of Queen since her and the drummer separated, well she hadn’t seen much of  _Roger._ Freddie frequently would visit Francesca and her new husband, a friend of the band collectively. Brian would ring every couple days letting her know how their parents were getting on and to show-off any new riffs he’d been working on and John? Well, he’d come for advice after finding out his wife was also pregnant, and it was easier to fly across continents than risk getting a drumstick shoved up his arse by his hot-headed bandmate.

“Not for a while,” Chess surveyed cluttered area for a few seconds spotting another blond child holding a few crayons, “why don’t you go help Chasity colour-in for a while, hmm?”

Mona slipped a pout though Chess suppressed an eye-roll at the gesture. Her six-year-old had a hard time making friends, before Chasity she hadn’t really interacted with other children. Being on the road with her parents meant that there was never an opportunity to go to nursery nor primary school, it was only now that they’d finally settled in California for the next while that she finally could. Boy, was it a struggle.

Mona couldn’t fully understand the concept of sharing because she never had to. Chess didn’t plan on having any more children with Roger and Brian hadn’t had any yet. Meaning, she had a hell of a lot of learning to do before the baby came.

“Be nice,” She softly warned slipping her arms under her daughter, lifting her small frame from the poorly built structure and plopping her onto the ground. Noticing the still ever-present pout Chess kneeled down to the small blonde’s height as she fiddled with the silver band looped onto a thin chain. “Honey if something is _bothering_  you…”

There was a small attempt at trying to hide her sniffles as some loose curls fall to mask her sadness. “Mo, please tell me.”

Another sniffle and a small tear follows. Chess holds her child’s tiny waist hoping to give some sense of comfort but noticing an abrupt reflective light she’d realised what Mona was actually doing, the sudden mood-swing was starting to make sense. The singer gently rests her forehead to her daughter’s, cupping her delicate cheek. “You want to go  _home,_  don’t you?”

Ignoring her mum’s question, Mona cuts to the chase, “I miss  _d_ - _daddy_.”

Her heart ached, but she couldn’t go back;  _he_  didn’t want them back. They’d made a new life out here.

“I know you do, but… it, it’s just,” The woman stutters, “it’s complicated and there’s not much I can do.”

Chess watched as Mona continued to tinker with her old wedding ring. Initially she’d thrown it at Roger in fit of rage but after he’d stormed out, the then four-year-old was quick to scoop it up. Brian, who had found his niece trying to make it fit on two or three of her fingers decided he’d put together a make-shift necklace as the ring no longer had value to either of her parents, and to quote Mercury himself it was, “ _Cheap shit from the charity shop, darling!”_

The frontman wasn’t wrong. Roger picked them the night before proposing because he’d woken-up to Mrs. May pounding on his flat door at eleven o’clock at night demanding that;  _“If he wis daft enough to get her up the duff, he wis gonnae marry her.”_

Their mother routinely joked about the incident after they’d tied the knot but since the revelation at Abbey Road, she found the sentiment rather cynical. Had the woman not cared she may have been in a very different predicament, which didn’t involve Mona.

 

The ceremony was considerably smaller than her second marriage, a group consisting of both her and Roger’s parents, their siblings and  _Smile’s_ lead singer, Tim Staffell then a handful of friends from university. Her mother’s dress wasn’t exactly an eyesore, but  _princess_  wouldn’t be an associated connotation,  _“Now, are we sure it should be white mum?”_ She remembered Brian once commented after the pair had successfully wrangled it out of the cupboard, which was then followed with a forceful elbow-jab. Thankfully, once they’d left the local church, she was free to change into a loose quarter-length ivory chiffon dress that had no-business being the eight-pounds she’d paid for it, channelling her inner  _Vivien Leigh_  compared to the previous  _Bride of Frankenstein_

Chess opened her mouth in an attempt to console her daughter but was cut short by a nearby voice,

“Well look at you  _Miss Taylor!_  Aren’t you a cutie!” The American, exuded in sheer confidence coming up behind Francesca and pinching the small girl’s cheek, though there’s a vague hesitation after noting the damp skin. Cher gave her friend a look of sorrow before straightening up her posture becoming the glowing goddess once again. “Mo, go play with Chasity; I  _promise_ I’ll stay right here if you need me.”

She shows a weak smile before giving her mum a quick peck on the lips,  _“pinky-promise?”_

The two both interlock fingers smiling back at one another. “Pinky-promise.” Chess has a quick glance over at the other child, “go.”

The twenty-three-year-old remained in the position watching her daughter slowly approach her new-found companion as a crayon was handed to her then a light pressure was felt on her shoulder. “That not a tantrum I smell brewing?”

Climbing back to her feet, Chess tuns to face her friend. “She’s missing Rog.”

“So, call him. There’s no harm in letting the poor-thing say hello to her own father.”

She bit down on her lip. Chess had already considered doing that in the past, but Mona was too young even comprehend what was going on, especially when her mother began seeing someone else.

“I  _can’t,_  I just couldn’t put her through that again.”

“Kid, it’s _just_  a phone-call.”

“But it’s not  _though_ , because sooner or later she’s going to want to see him and  _ugh_ ,” Cher raised an eyebrow, “he just makes me so  _infuriated_.”

“I take it, it didn’t end on great terms between the two of you?”

She shook her head, “Smashed a window in his car. Rather symbolic when you think about it; lost my virginity  _and_  conceived my child in that pile of utter shite,” the elder let out a snort at the girl’s crude nature, “y’know originally, I wanted to destroy that _bloody_  drum kit, but I knew Fred and Brian would never speak to me again, so the Mini had to do.”

“Look, take it from someone that knows; the more you pull, the more she’ll push.”

Chess bit her lip knowing the singer was right.

“What does David think?”

 _David_ he’d been so patient with the situation and Chess couldn’t be more thankful for his understanding. They’d met the same way she and Cher did, at an after-party with Elton,  _perhaps having one too many._  The redhead was different from her ex in a number of ways; he was passionate, soft spoken, sensitive, sensual and an overall warm-soul that truly cared about everyone.

“-that I’m just being ridiculous.” She did roll her eyes this time, “he offered to fly her back himself; said I could stay here whilst she visits Roger.”

“…and you don’t think that’s a good idea, why?”

“I’d be sending him into the  _lion’s den!_  There’s only so much Brian can do before Roger starts planning his many routes of murdering my new husband.”

**Author's Note:**

> I decided I would make a series out of this character and just in case Tumblr wants to go back on its period again, so this isn't stolen - it's still me.


End file.
